t her outen hand es she rides along," demurred
a conscientious objector, who, however, fully endorsed the plan of
lightening her financial burden. "She's a woman, fer all her brashness
in her callin' herself a man."

The virtuous sentiment was not popularly received. It might even have
been scoffed into limbo had not Jase Mallows leaned forward, twirling
his mustache, and made himself heard.

"Ye're damn right hit won't do ter kill her. I aims ter wed that gal
some day, an' afore I'd see her lay-wayed an' kilt, I'd tell this hull
story ter ther town marshall."

An ominous growl went up at that but Jase continued staunchly.

"Howsomever we needn't hev no fallin' out over that. I've got a plan
wharby she kin be robbed without hurtin' her an' wharby atter ye've
done got ther money, I kin 'pear ter rescue her an' tek her offen yore
hands."

As he outlined his guileful proposition the scowls of his listeners
gave way to grins of full approval and admiration.

"Who's goin' ter diskiver what route she rides?" demanded one of those
annoyingly exact persons who mar all great dreams by the injection of
practicalities.

Again Jase laughed. "Thar hain't but one way she kin go--hit'll be
days afore any other route's fordable. She's got ter fare past
Crabapple post office an' through Wolf-pen gap."

That afternoon Brent went to the telegraph office. He wanted to wire
his concern that the timber was safe and the deal closed, but while
still a short distance from the railroad station, which was also the
telegrapher's office, he saw Lute Brown go into the place and fell to
wondering what business carried him hither. So he timed his entrance
and sauntered in just as the fellow was turning away from the
operator's chair.

Brent himself lounged about idly, because the man at the table had
opened his key and begun sending. Neither Brown nor the operator gave
any indication of interest in the arrival of a third person.

To neither of them did it occur that Brent was versed in the Morse
code, and Brent volunteered no information on the subject.

None the less he was listening and as the dots and dashes fell into
letters and the letters into words, he read, as if from a book, this
message:

"Woman starts out in morning with bundle by way of Crabapple post
office. Lute."

Brent filed his own message and passed the time of day with the
operator, but when he was outside he cursed the need of slow walking as
he made h